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by PixieLeigh1234

Sam desperately hopes to find a cure from the MoC for Dean. When Sam finds it, Dean refuses, until circumstances leave him unable to refuse any longer. But with the cure, consequences follow. Consequences Sam, Dean and Cas could never have foreseen. But will the knowledge they seek in the aftermath provide answers, or will it leave them all once again facing an uncertain future.

7. Chapter 7

Warning: Strong language in this one, as well as spanking

#SPN#

Chapter Seven

"Missed me, Sammy?"

Sam yells, shooting upright, Azazel's laughter once again echoing in his ears. He snaps open wide terrified eyes, hands clutching at the sheets surrounding him, bunched and tangled in his legs and trapping him within there hold. He desperately kicks at them to free himself, shoving at the sheets with his hands. A startled cry releases from him as he tilts sideways, hitting hard floor with a thud a second later. The jolt awakens him to the realisation of where he is and the memory of the last time he awoke from this nightmare.

He quickly tracks his gaze around his bedroom, ensuring he is definitely in the bunker this time, and not the woods or that cottage where he vaguely remembers his brother pointing out the dead Obilaya. And with the realisation that he's safe, Sam slumps to the side, his body hitting the edge of his bed as he strives to bring his breathing under control. Disappointment floods his system. He had really been hoping that his nightmare was all down to the Obilaya and once it was taken care of the nightmare would leave him the hell alone, but he had obviously hoped wrong. And now he once again has the taste of that bitter tang on his tongue. And once again his brother isn't here…

God Sam, quit needing Dean every five fucking seconds! You're a grown man! Act like it! Sam scolds himself before snorting harshly. Because who is he trying to kid? He needs Dean; needs the comfort just being in his big brother's presence offers. That will be enough. He doesn't need to mention he's had a bad dream again like some four-year-old running to daddy.

After running a hand through his hair, Sam's about to push himself to standing when he notices the white bandages encompassing both of his feet. He is swiftly reminded that he must have traversed a good thirty to thirty-five miles on bare feet thanks to that fucking Obilaya and the terrain had not been gentle on his skin. He draws up one bandaged foot after another, happy to note there are no red splotches on the white fabric; meaning he couldn't have injured them further during his second Obilaya-induced zombie walk. That is unless Dean changed the bandages while Sam was sleeping. Though Sam doubts it. He'd had enough protection on his feet to prevent further injury. Dean had insisted on it. His brother making him put on two pairs of socks beneath his boots before Sam had fallen asleep last night. A normal pair and a much thicker pair to form insulation against any rubbing that walking that far in his boots could have caused his injuries. Sam contemplates removing the bandages, but he knows they will provide him with some padding when he walks so he leaves them on for now.

Shifting onto his hands and knees, Sam crawls his way the few feet to his bureau and uses the five-drawer cabinet to pull himself to his feet, his legs shaky beneath him. He holds onto the bureau to steady himself momentarily before crossing to his door. It stands slightly ajar and as Sam pulls it fully open, the sound of the squeaky hinges echoes loudly in the silence. Slipping out into the low-lit hallway, Sam's thankful Dean hasn't left him to wake to pitch-black darkness. Sam isn't exactly sure when his old fear of the dark crept back in, or when Dean realised it had, but it's infuriatingly annoying. Yet, Sam can't stop himself from all but hyperventilating when he finds himself in that kind of darkness without a light source readily available.

He glances down at his watch; 11:37 AM. Though of what day that time refers to Sam's not even sure. He hadn't taken any time to look at the date or day when they were researching the Obilaya, but he had a feeling a little over a day has passed since his collapse out on the green.

Making a pit stop in the bathroom, he uses the toilet before splashing his face with cool water. He repeats the action twice more before wetting a washcloth and placing it at the back of his neck, allowing the cold cloth to ease some of the tension there. Pulling it away after a minute, he grabs a towel off the rail on the wall beside the counter housing the three sinks and dabs it over his much cooler skin. Glancing in the mirror, he runs his hands through his bed-hair, straightening it out a little and lessening the impact of it looking like a birds nest. Taking note of his eyes, he's grateful they don't look bloodshot or bruised beneath. Sam really doesn't need Dean 'suggesting' an even earlier bedtime than he already has. Quickly brushing his teeth, he pays particular attention to cleaning his tongue and trying not to gag; he wants that remembered bitter tang of demon blood gone.

After leaving the bathroom, Sam checks Dean's bedroom first and finds it empty. He checks the knocked-through room that will eventually become their living room whenever it gets finished. He checks the library and only finds books strewn over the tables that he knows weren't there earlier. He checks the crow's nest. All come up empty. Sam's pretty sure Dean and Cas are in the building. The bunker doesn't have that empty feel to it; that feeling when you just know you are alone. Maybe one or the other has ventured out, but not both. Dean would've left a note where Sam could easily find it if both were leaving the bunker.

Scrubbing at his eyes, Sam crosses under the archway joining the crow's nest to what they've termed the kitchen hallway (even though it does lead elsewhere). Reaching the kitchen entryway a moment later, Sam freezes under the square archway, shock seeping through his body and heat rising in his cheeks. This is certainly the last thing he's expecting to see at the end of his search for Dean. And yep, he's found Dean. He just definitely wasn't expecting to be greeted with a partial view of his brother's naked butt! Nor Cas atop their new breakfast bar, the former angel's bare legs wrapped tightly around Dean's back; the fingers of Cas' left hand curling around the base of Dean's neck, squeezing the skin there with each swift forward thrust of Dean's hips.

Snapping out of his shock as Dean lets out a deep groan, Sam hurriedly places a hand over his eyes, swiftly but quietly backing away from the kitchen and leaving the couple to it. Especially before Cas can open his eyes and see Sam standing there like a wide-eyed idiot. Reaching his bedroom, Sam closes the door and slams his hand against his light switch, light illuminating the room; the after-effects of his nightmare now long gone. He starts to pace the floor space with a flurry of questions running through his mind, while at the same time trying to scrub away the image he has just become an unwitting witness to.

God, how long have Dean and Cas been having sex? Sam doubts this is a first time, or a one-time thing, not with how comfortable the pair looked with each other. Sam shudders, he doesn't want to remember that part – or any part of Dean and Cas' sex life – thank you very much.

Dean would be so pissed with himself if he knew Sam had seen the pair. The last time Sam had seen Dean having sex was when Sam had walked in on his brother getting it on with twin females back when Dean was crossing off his bucket list before the deal came due. And as much as Dean had brushed it all off as a natural act, Sam knew Dean hated Sam seeing him having sex. It was a big no-no in Dean's mind, having 'innocent' baby brother witness him in that kind of position.

Sam snorts. He had never ever wanted to see his big brother having sex either, but unfortunately Dean sometimes forgot to close doors back when he was in his early twenties and too drunk to remember such things.

Because despite having Dean as a big brother, Sam had been a very late bloomer in the sex department; physically coming into puberty at a much later age than his peers. He had been just shy of sixteen when Dean realised his little brother knew nothing about sex after Sam had come home from school and innocently asked "what's a blowjob" in the middle of dinner.

Sam smiles softly as he thinks about the talk Dean had given him; perhaps one of the most disgustingly embarrassing moments of his life, but looking back he realises Dean had had the perfect opportunity to tease the hell out of him at his total lack of knowledge on the subject. Instead Dean had explained things calmly and educationally without once making fun of him, even a year and a half later when Sam had finally hit puberty. But even at seventeen Sam had still been of the mind-set that he was never having sex with anyone. Ever. Dean had smiled indulgently and ruffled his hair, telling Sam the old adage that he would feel differently when he was older. He had felt differently four years later. Jess had been his first.

Sam sighs as he drops down onto the edge of his unmade bed, scrubbing knuckles against his eyes. How is he meant to face his brother and Cas without the familiar embarrassment creeping in now that he knows what they're doing? Sam jumps at the sound of a knock on his door. Crap, do I wanna answer that? He blinks as a second later the door opens without his giving consent anyway, revealing a fully-clothed Dean. Thank god.

Dean steps inside Sam's room, closing the door behind him with a click of the latch, before leaning back against the wood and crossing his arms over his chest. Sam drops his gaze to his lap, sensing the intense green gaze surveying him. He starts to squirm, feeling as if he's in trouble and wondering if Dean knows what Sam witnessed only minutes earlier. He hears Dean sigh softly before the sound of his brother's boots scuffing the floor draws closer; then the bed is dipping beside him as Dean sits down.

"So you know," Dean says matter-of-factly.

God, how many embarrassing situations can I get myself into? First puking all over myself and crying all over Dean's shoulder, then getting lost in the freaking woods and now this. Life is not being fair to me right now, Sam thinks, his cheeks heating again as he raises his head to look at his brother. "W-what?" he stutters.

"Cas saw you bolting away from the kitchen, Sammy," his brother states, as far from embarrassed as you can get.

Sam sometimes hates the fact that Dean can always take sex in stride and doesn't show any signs of outward embarrassment, even after getting caught by his little brother. Though Sam isn't the only one who's ever caught Dean having sex. Sam knows for a fact that Bobby, Caleb, Joshua, John and even Pastor Jim had all caught Dean, and Dean's always been able to just laugh it off. Though Pastor Jim had certainly had a thing or two to say about it.

"I didn't know you were in …" Sam starts only to stop as Dean holds up a hand.

"It's not your fault, Sammy. It's mine and Cas'. We shouldn't've been having sex where you could easily walk in on us when you woke up. We weren't thinking, kiddo."

"Yeah, that's kinda clear, Dean," Sam shoots back but he gives Dean a quick smile to show he isn't necessarily angry about it. Confused, yes, but not angry.

Dean snorts. "Do we really need to talk about this, Sammy?" He questions looking far from wanting to do so. Sam arch's an eyebrow, wondering if the recent sex has addled his brother's brain. Because of course they need to talk about it! Things are going to be completely awkward for Sam if they don't. "Right, forgot who I was talking to there for a sec," Dean snorts again, "Of course you wanna talk about it." Dean shakes his head and sighs. "Well c'mon, Sammy, hit me with it."

Sam figures he'll voice the most prominent question he wants an answer to. "How long?"

He can feel Dean shift beside him before responding. "Off and on since Purgatory."

Sam's next breath draws in quickly and he looks sharply at his brother. "Purgatory? Four years." He shoots to his feet. Now there is anger coursing through his veins. "You've been with Cas for four fucking years and you haven't told me?!"

"Hey!" Dean cuts in firmly, jaw set. "Watch your mouth, Sam. I know you're pissed at me but that doesn't give you a free pass to start cussing."

"Yeah? Well fuck you, Dean!"

"Stop cussing. Now. Because I am not gonna give you another warning, Samuel," Dean's voice is a low growl.

Sam snorts harshly, beyond caring and too far gone into pissed off territory to realise the words already sprouting from his mouth are going to force his brother into acting on that veiled threat. "You're such a hypocritical fucking c**t, Dean!"

Dean is on his feet in an instant, long strides eating up the distance separating him from Sam. Sam jumps a hurried step back away from Dean, immediately hitting the wall behind him and all-too-quickly snapping out of his own anger in the face of the blazing green-fire bearing down on him. The words Sam has just spoken are practically vibrating off the walls as they roll through Sam's mind, becoming louder and clearer; taunting him with the sudden knowledge that he has made a huge mistake in throwing them at his big brother. His chest tightens and his stomach rolls, just the way they always do when guilt starts to creep in. He's done wrong. He knows it. But he's still unable to just stand there and face the punishment Dean's going to dish out and Sam is quickly moving to the side to try and get to his closed door. He wants out, away from his advancing big brother who Sam has no doubts is about to whoop him for cussing so strongly.

"Dean, I'm sorry," Sam is aiming for strong and calm, but he can hear his voice wobbling. "I didn't mean …"

Unfortunately, Dean is already on him and Sam's attempt to stop his brother with his words is futile. His upper left arm is grasped and he's pulled away from the wall and hauled up into Dean's arms, his butt being sat on his brother's hip just as it had been hours earlier. He squirms and struggles against the grip, feeling heat flare across his cheeks yet again. And he's surprised when, rather than carrying him to his bed, Dean opens Sam's bedroom door and carry's Sam out into the hall instead.

Oh god, Dean's not taking me to be spanked in front of Cas, is he? Dean wouldn't do that to me, would he? That would be beyond mortifying right now.

But just as soon as Sam thinks that the realisation strikes as to where Dean's footsteps are actually leading, and what Dean intends to do when they get there. Sam renews his struggles only to feel his brother's hand crash down on his bottom a second later, causing Sam to yelp at the sting.

"Settle down, Samuel, or you'll be receiving a prelude to the spanking you're getting after we're done with this part of your punishment."

Sam stills at the warning, sitting in his brother's arm, bottom lip unconsciously jutting out and his body tense as they draw closer to his doom. Entering the bathroom, Dean sits him down on the end of the counter housing the sinks, before grasping his chin.

"You keep your butt planted right there, you hear me, little boy?"

Sam swallows and nods. "Yes, Dean."

Dean moves away across the room. Sam watches through his eyelashes as Dean yanks open the doors to their supply closet and rummages within, head practically disappearing inside. It's only a moment later that Dean steps back from the closet and closes the doors again, a small white wrapped package in one hand. Sam bites his bottom lip as Dean crosses back to him, stripping away the wrapping from the familiar fresh bar of non-scented soap. Sam doesn't need to guess what his brother intends to do with it. It's been a good few years since Dean last felt the need to soap Sam's mouth, but Sam hasn't forgotten. And neither has Dean if his brother still keeps a fresh supply of the specific soap he uses to wash out Sam's mouth. Sam makes a quick mental note to find every last bar in that closet and melt them.

Sam cringes as Dean wets the soap under the water until suds form and then the evil thing is being held to Sam's mouth. He keeps his lips clamped shut and shakes his head, feeling the tears already beginning to burn his eyes.

"Open," Dean commands firmly. Sam stares back, using his eyes to plead with his big brother not to put that in his mouth. Dean sets his jaw. "Now, Samuel."

The whimper passes Sam's lips before he can stop it as he easily recognises the tone his brother is utilising. The one that tells him his brother is pissed right now and Sam should stop being a disobedient little boy and obey the command before his brother has to repeat himself again. It's a part of Dean that Sam has never been able to ignore; something that used to piss off John Winchester because Sam could never bring himself to obey that man without falling into an argument. And knowing there is no way around the command unless he wants his brother to have to force his mouth open - something that will actually be hurting Dean more than it will Sam - Sam closes his eyes and opens his mouth. Sam wants it gone the second the wide and sudsy bar brushes his bottom lip and he has to stop himself from pulling away, or physically forcing Dean away from him.

"Close," he hears Dean instruct and Sam reluctantly does so, the bar of soap being enclosed by his lips, the roof of his mouth and his tongue, as well as his teeth as they sink slightly into the bar. The suds start to fill his mouth as they join with his saliva and he tries his damn hardest to keep it from trickling down his throat. "Five minutes, Sam, then you're done."

Sam nods lightly, eyes still closed and head bowed, feeling a hot tear trail down his left cheek. He's surprised when he feels the pad of a wide thumb brush across his cheek, swiping the tear away. He opens his eyes, staring through wet lashes at his brother still standing right in front of him. The anger Sam had only minutes ago witnessed in those green eyes is now cooled to a fire that leaves him without any doubts he's still in for one hell of a spanking when they're done here. But doing this now, soaping Sam's mouth, is allowing for Dean to calm down enough that he can dish out the upcoming spanking without the anger Sam was silently fearing might cloud his big brother's judgement. Because, admittedly, Sam had been a little scared when he saw his brother coming at him. It had reminded him of John those times he came at Sam with a belt. But he doesn't fear his brother. He does know what a rash decision in anger can do, and cussing like that at his brother is a sure fire way to set Dean's temper off. A temper that would see Dean spanking Sam before he realises he's doing so in anger. A big no-no. But Dean's cooler head had prevailed despite his anger at Sam and now here they are.

Sam silently observes Dean glance at his watch, the suds in his mouth starting to trickle down his chin. "One more minute, Sam," Dean tells him, swiping a washcloth over Sam's chin. Sam unconsciously shakes his head. "One minute," Dean reiterates, this time with that hint of steel in his voice.

Sam whimpers and nods.

When the five minute mark is finally – finally – up, Dean grasps the end of the soap protruding from Sam's mouth. After a nod of consent from his brother, Sam happily unglues his teeth now stuck in the bar and Dean pulls it free, immediately placing it on the discarded wrapper. He crosses the room to dump both in the garbage can. Good riddance, Sam thinks as he spits out the build-up from within his mouth into the sink beside him.

"Rinse your mouth," Dean instructs as he makes his way back from the garbage can.

Sam quickly dives down, twisting himself around on the counter to get closer to the faucet. He cups water in his hand, feeding it to his mouth and rinsing thoroughly before spitting again. He repeats the process several more times until he feels Dean's hand rest on his back and his brother tells him to stop.

"Can I brush my teeth, Dean?" Sam asks as his brother eases him back up straight.

"Sorry kiddo, you get to keep that taste as a reminder for a little while longer," Dean tells him with just the barest hint of sympathy, his hands once again grasping Sam under the arms and pulling him off the counter onto Dean's hip. Sam wants to protest that's he more than capable of walking, but he keeps his mouth closed. He doesn't want any further punishment than the spanking he knows he has coming.

But Dean isn't carrying him back to his room. And Sam's back to fearing his brother is taking him to be spanked in front of Cas. He blinks as they cross into the crow's nest two minutes later. Dean heads straight for the archway into the library and Sam is more than thankful Cas is not present within. Sam feels a tap on his leg and he drops both from around Dean's waist, his brother setting him fully back onto his feet. Looking at his brother in confusion, Dean points to the back of the room.

"Bring me your spoon, Sam," Dean instructs.

Sam's eyes widen, his heart thudding in his chest as he spares a glance to the corner. Nu-uh, Dean can't mean… but Sam can see from his brother's face and stance that the man isn't playing around. Crap.

There's only ever been two implements Dean has used on Sam's bottom outside of his hand. And both are housed in the library; hanging on their own little nails above Dean's private desk, the only proper desk in the library which Dean immediately claimed as his own when they first moved in. The old wooden spoon that stings like a bitch hanging right next to the old wooden hairbrush that stings even worse. Sam had not been impressed the first time he had spotted them hanging above the desk in a room it was perfectly obvious from the minute they got here that Sam would be spending most of his time. But then that's Dean's silent point isn't it. The not-so subtle reminder that both implements are still readily available to be brought down and used at any given time. The spoon a step up from Dean's hand, left for misbehaviour that needs more than just a hand but doesn't warrant the brush. That thing only comes out for the big things, like Sam purposefully placing his life in danger. He has felt it more than once in the past decade.

And Sam has, as of yet, been unable to salt and burn either evil implement. But one day…

Sam shakes his head and looks at his brother imploringly. "Dean, please. Not the spoon …" Sam trails off as Dean grasps him by his upper left arm, turns him slightly to the side and swats his bottom hard, before repeating the instruction to bring him the spoon.

Gulping and wanting to rub at the sting but refraining, Sam knows Dean will continue in this vain; instructing and swatting every time Sam doesn't do as asked. His butt will be stinging before the real thing even begins. So Sam uses his brain and does as he's told. He turns and heads to the corner housing Dean's desk. Coming to a stop in front of the desk, he shifts Dean's desk chair to the side slightly.

Biting at his bottom lip, Sam glances over his shoulder to look at his brother, hoping he can put across another desperate appeal for leniency. But Dean is as still as unyielding marble, arms crossed over his chest and silently watching and waiting for Sam to complete his task. An eyebrow arch's above one green eye and with a soft whimper, Sam turns back to the wall without saying a word, knowing it would be a waste of oxygen. He draws in a deep breath before he reaches out and grasps his fingers around the head of the wooden spoon, the slightly curved part that will soon be applied to his bottom. He pulls it towards him, the eye in the top of the thin round handle slipping free of the nail. And as slowly as he can possibly get away with, he walks back to his brother. Sam feels his cheeks heat with embarrassment as he holds out the spoon's handle to Dean.

Dean takes the spoon with a nod, the thanks he isn't about to say out loud. He slips it in his pocket before Sam's butt is once again resting on Dean's hip and Dean is carrying him away, this time towards Sam's bedroom. Sam again keeps his mouth closed about the carrying and instead utilises the few minutes he has before they reach his bedroom to draw in as much comfort from having Dean's arms around him. At least as much as his tense body will allow.

Before Sam knows it they've already reached his bedroom and he's being set on his feet just inside the now closed door. He stands still as Dean releases him, suddenly not knowing what to do with himself or how Dean intends to spank him. And contemplates making a run for it. The moment Sam thinks it he knows it's a bad idea. Dean will have already caught him before he can even cross the threshold of his bedroom door, and his punishment will be that much worse for running. Instead, he watches through his eyelashes as Dean shoves the top sheets on Sam's bed out of the way, pulls the spoon out of his pocket and sets the evil thing on the mattress before taking a seat right next to it.

Dean eyes meet his with the expectancy of Sam crossing to him and Sam's eyes burn with fresh tears. He doesn't want a spanking! He shakes his head as Dean calmly beckons him forwards again. "Please, Dean. I know I got a sp-spanking coming, but please don't spank me with the spoon. I've learnt my lesson, I promise," he sniffles, hot tears slipping down his cheeks.

Dean's shoulders are taut, his jaw set, and his eyes are still that same cool green-fire from the bathroom and library. Dean's calm. And his mind is set on the course of punishment he's laid out. There will be no changing it on Sam's front. Sam has never been able to change Dean's mind once Dean's made the decision to punish him.

"Sam, come here," Dean orders, saying nothing to Sam's teary plea.

Sniffling, Sam shuffles forwards until he stands in front of Dean. Dean reaches out, grasping his wrist and tugging him the last step so Sam is stood to the right of his brother's legs. Sam reaches up and swipes at an eye with the back of his hand. There are no words. Sam knows full well what he's done wrong, so Dean won't lecture and scold, at least not yet. Sam tenses as Dean draws him down over his spread thighs and bodily situates Sam so that his head and upper torso rest at an angle on the mattress. Sam's long legs splay out behind him but Dean has him positioned so his feet can't touch the ground. It makes Sam feel even more vulnerable and childlike and Sam hates it. Dean tugs him in closer to his stomach, and Sam's wishing he's anywhere else but face down over his big brother's lap awaiting a spanking.

Only when he feels his brother's fingers slipping beneath his sweats does Sam struggle against Dean's hold. "No, Dean, not bare," Sam cries. Because as much as he's aware he isn't getting out of this spanking, if he can at least keep his sweats on it will lessen the impact of his brother's hard hand. If only a little. But Dean doesn't dish out full spankings over clothing, only the on-the-spot swats, and his struggles are futile. Dean's arm clamps down over his waist, the other over his thighs, easily stilling him in place, Sam's strength no longer holding a candle to his big brother's new (and once demonic) strength. And unfortunately, in the next second Dean shows Sam just how much he isn't in charge in any way, shape or form of this situation by pulling Sam's sweats and underwear down to his knees with one swift tug, fully baring Sam's bottom. Sam can't stop himself from throwing his right hand back to try and protect his bare skin from what's coming.

"Move your hand, Samuel," Dean's voice is back to being pure steel.

And as much as Sam wants to keep his hand splayed over his bottom, he can't disobey that tone, so he draws his hand away with a whimper. Instead he grabs hold of his pillow, tucking it under him and gripping it tightly in his right hand. He snakes his left hand backwards, finding the hem of his big brother's shirt and grips that just as tightly, needing that small comfort even as he has his butt handed to him.

Sam sucks in a breath when his big brother's large calloused hand connects sharply with his bottom. He squirms, once again trying to get out of the hold, and once again failing miserably. A barrage of swats follow and he lets out a cry when four quick succession swats land in the same spot, the pain sweeping across his bottom.

"If you ever, ever," Dean punctuates that with another harsh swat, "say those cuss words again, directed at me or otherwise, Samuel Dean Winchester, I can promise you won't like the consequences, do you understand me?"

"Yes sir, I u-understand," Sam whimpers, trying to stifle anymore tears. It's embarrassing that he has endured far worse pain than a spanking in his lifetime, but he can never get through a spanking from his big brother without ending up a blubbering mess. So he fails miserably in trying to stifle them, and the tears drip from his eyes as another volley of swats land against his burning rear and thighs. "Owww! 'M sorry! De, 'm sorry!" His legs are kicking, his fingers curling into his pillow and his brother's shirt, feeling like the digits are going to tear straight through the fabric, but he doesn't release his hold as Dean continues spanking him. "Owww! De! Please!"

Dean stops. For a moment Sam thinks he's free, but then he remembers the spoon as he feels the back of the wooden object come to rest against his bottom, ready for Dean to start spanking with it. Sam cries into his pillow.

"We're almost there, kiddo," Dean assures. "Just ten coming with the spoon."

Sam lets out a wail into his pillow. He doesn't want ten smacks from the spoon! He doesn't want any! He jumps and sobs as the wooden spoon is applied to the crease where his bottom meets his thighs, the spot that will make sitting uncomfortable for a good few hours. "Owww! Please De, I won't c-cuss again, I pr-promise! 'M sorry! 'M sorry!" he dissolves into sobs, just letting himself cry out the pain and regret into his pillow.

It takes Sam a few minutes to realise his brother has stopped with the punishing swats and is now rubbing his back softly in comfort, talking to him quietly and calmly.

"C'mon, kiddo. You're okay, baby boy. It's over, Sammy."

Sam squirms. His bottom is on fire, but he wants up. His breathing is filled with shuddering hiccups as he releases his hold on his pillow and Dean's shirt, his fingers unconsciously making grabby motions. He feels Dean right his clothing and set him on his feet, but keeps a grip on Sam's upper arms. Sam whimpers his brother's name, wanting to be closer and is grateful when Dean quickly stands, pulling Sam in firmly against his chest, strong arms wrapping around Sam tightly. Sam buries his face in the crook of Dean's neck as he continues to cry his pain and regret at saying those things to his big brother.

When his tears finally start to slow, Dean manoeuvres them both so they are once again seated on the bed, Sam's pillow pushed under his bottom. He still squirms against the soreness of his underwear and sweats rubbing against his flaming skin despite the plump pillow.

"I am really sorry, Dean," Sam sniffles, rubbing at an eye as a few stray tears trickle down his cheeks.

"I know you are, buddy." Dean reaches over and swipes his sleeve across Sam's face in-lieu of the tissue he doesn't have available. "But you also know my feelings in regards to you cussing."

Oh yeah, Sam is unfortunately more than aware of how Dean feels about that. His brother had made it plain to him back when Sam was fourteen and cussed for the first time. Because even though he grew up around two men who swore like sailors on any given day, Sam is expected not to have a potty mouth. He isn't allowed to swear, as a kid or as an adult. Sam has sorely tested the latter many a time, none more so than when Dean picked him up from Stanford. When he swiftly realised Dean still wasn't going to put up with Sam cussing after Sam had let out a "fuck" and received a swift, hard swat across his backside. Even now, the only curse word Sam can get away with saying most of the time is ass. Anything stronger than that said in his big brother's vicinity always earns him a swat or a spanking. And if Sam had kept his mouth shut after the first 'fuck' he would've got away with it because of the circumstances. But then of course he'd lost his mind and gone and thrown in that naughty word directly at his brother. That was what had earned him the spoon, he knows that now.

The gentle pressure of fingers on his chin tilting his face up so he's looking into his brother's stern green eyes draws Sam out of his thoughts. "You're smart enough to find more appropriate words to express yourself, Sam, aren't you?" Dean says, holding him to that old reason. Sam sometimes wants to tell his brother he's more than smart enough to do the same thing, but Dean has a hunter's mouth because John had never felt the need to correct Dean. Had actually been proud of his eldest playing with the big boys and holding his own when Dean had started joining in on hunts. Instead, Sam nods. "No more cussing, Sammy, because if it happens again I promise you'll be feeling your spoon every other night for a week." Sam widens his eyes in horror, fresh tears overflowing. "And you'll be tasting soap just as long. Ya hear me?"

Sam nods frantically, swiping the back of his wrist across his eyes, a couple of hiccups flowing from him. "Yes, Dean," he manages to choke out.

"Shh, c'mon, bud," Dean wraps an arm around his shoulders and pulls Sam against his chest, lips brushing over Sam's forehead as a hand rests against the back of his head. "Sammy," the sound of Dean's voice rumbles beneath Sam's ear several minutes later, but he doesn't move. He knows he should get himself together, but he has always craved comfort from his big brother after a spanking, and it's when Dean freely gives it. "I get you're upset about what I revealed about me and Cas, kiddo," Dean continues. "But if you'd've kept a level head, you would've realised I said 'off and on since Purgatory', Sam. Which actually translates into maybe a dozen or so times before eight or nine months ago. Then …" Dean trails off with a sigh, and Sam tilts his head back in time to see his brother scrub a hand down his face, looking for all the world as if this is the last thing he wants to be discussing with his baby brother. "Look, Sammy, it wasn't a thing at first. Cas and I… it was just a means to an end back then, to satisfy both our urges, and it just… happened, you know. It wasn't something you would've ever needed to be privy to, and… Neither of us expected it to go any further, Sammy, especially not after Cas and I were both back here. And then we realised it helped to partially satiate the Mark and well… We were gonna tell you, Sammy. We just wanted to wait for the right time."

Sam tilts his head back further to really look at his brother, before pushing himself upright again in wide-eyed surprise. Is Dean trying to tell Sam what Sam thinks he is? "Dean, are… are you and Cas in a-a relationship?" he asks, stuttering over the question because of his surprise at the thought. "Like a real, more than just sex, relationship?"

"Why is that such a big shock, Sammy?" Dean asks, but the softness of his eyes tells Sam he isn't mad. "I've had relationships before."

Sam doesn't miss the sincerity in Dean's eyes and tone. This is for real, Sam thinks flabbergasted. His big brother is actually in a proper relationship with someone and Sam has been completely oblivious to any pertinent signs that should've told him sooner.

Sam had almost honestly given up all hope of his big brother ever settling down with anyone. Dean's longest relationship to date is the year he'd spent with Lisa – something he had later revealed was out of obligation to Sam's last wish before he'd jumped Lucifer into the cage. But Sam knows his brother had grown to love Lisa and a flash of guilt sweeps through him in remembrance of what had later transpired to completely sever Dean's connection to Lisa and Ben.

#

Dean can no longer read his little brother's mind or emotions as it isn't one of the demonic powers he's retained, but he can clearly see where the kid's mind has gone. He doesn't need powers for that, because it's where his own has gone. To the last relationship he'd had that held any significance beyond a one-night stand; Lisa Braeden. Sammy wouldn't bring it up because Dean had told him never to do so, but it doesn't stop the kid's thoughts from straying in that direction.

And really, he'd never had any right to be angry with Sam about any of that. Yes, Sammy had suggested it as a last wish, but that had been a wish of wanting Dean out of the life and to be happy more than anything else. Dean had thought Lisa would be the best means to being happy whilst living without Sammy, and it had been his choice and his alone to go to Lisa. To accept her invitation to stay. And stay for as long as he actually did.

And he had been happy - for a time. Once the grief had lessened a fraction (if it ever had at all). And some part of him had loved Lisa and Ben. But deep down Dean knows that that apple pie life would never have worked out. He's a hunter; he knows that now even if he hadn't fully back then. He would have grown restless with time, even if Sammy – or that fucked-up soulless version of his little brother – hadn't shown up. He would have started heading out for hunts, being gone longer and longer each time, until the inevitable had happened and he left that little family for good.

If Dean is honest with himself, it was the idea of what Lisa and Ben had represented that made him want to be with them. The idea of having a partner and a kid to go home to at the end of a work day, someone to share a bed with nightly, to share his life with - it had definitely appealed to him. But it wasn't his. And it wasn't him. Lisa had wanted him to be the respectable Joe Friday to the neighbours, with a decent job and a good income, whilst being a good boyfriend to her, and a father to Ben.

Ben was a good kid, but the boy had also wanted him to be someone he wasn't, just like his mother had. And it hadn't been Ben's fault that nearly everything the kid had done had ultimately reminded him of Sammy; reminded Dean of the kid he'd lost. It was a loss Lisa could never have understood. It was a relationship she had tried and failed to understand when Sam returned.

With Cas … it isn't easy by any stretch. They're still in a reasonably new relationship (one that doesn't revolve around just sex). They're still finding their feet with each other. Cas is once again figuring out the whole being human thing and his place in the world. Whilst Dean is trying to sort out his life with powers, come to terms with all that he did under the Mark's influence, and figure out what's going on with his kid. There's a lot going on there. But Cas gets it; he knows the lifestyle Dean lives. He accepts Sam and Dean, knows the drive behind the brothers' relationship and doesn't shy away from it.

A nudge against his arm has Dean realising his little brother is still staring at him in wide-eyed puppy wonder, the pink eyes from Sam's crying only amplifying the effect. Dean hadn't wanted to dish out such a severe punishment by bringing in the spoon, he hated using that and the hairbrush on his kid. But it was clear the 'no cussing' rule was something Dean needed to firmly re-establish despite it never having changed for Sammy. He'd known the soap was coming out after the second fuck, but then his little boy had decided to call him a c**t. And Dean will never stand for being so blatantly disrespected by the boy he's raised from a tiny squalling infant; one who had been born with those damn puppy-eyes. He smiles inwardly as he wonders if Sammy is going to be ninety and still able to pull off that baby-faced look. Gotta get the kid to ninety first, ya idjit, an irritating voice that's sounds too much like Bobby reminds him. Shut up, he shoots back wondering if he's starting to lose it. Dean needs to get back on track and be done with this conversation. There is a more pressing conversation he and Cas need to have with Sammy.

"You going to be okay with this, Sammy? Me and Cas."

Sam stares at him a moment longer, grimacing lightly as he wriggles his butt on the pillow, before nodding slowly. "I think so. Cas isn't leaving to live somewhere else, right?" Sam nibbles on his lower lip, clearly worried by the prospect.

"No, Sammy, Cas isn't leaving," Dean assures him. "This is Cas' home now too."

"That's good. And he's still going on hunts with us too, right?" Dean nods in response, silently wondering what's got his kid so worried about Cas leaving all of a sudden. "Then nothing much has changed," Sam shrugs, "except now I know the pair of you are in a relationship. You don't have to hide from me." Sam shoots him a small smirk, "Just… I know you're not one for public displays of affection anyway, Dean, but it'd be really nice if I didn't see the two of you having sex ever again thanks."

"You won't," Dean assures with a smirk, ruffling Sam's hair. "I don't want my innocent baby brother seeing that either."

"Deeeeaaan!" Sammy whines, his elbow nudging Dean in the side, "you make me sound like a baby or some naïve virgin!"

"Well that's good, cos you are still both a baby and a naïve virgin, Sammy," Dean remarks, chuckling, though he silently thinks a part of him is being half-serious – he just isn't sure which part.

"Am not," Sam pouts, a faint blush on his cheeks. "Just because I haven't experienced everything about sex like you undoubtedly have, it doesn't make me a virgin, Dean."

"But you don't deny being a baby and naïve," Dean says amused, laughing as he falls sideways on the mattress when Sammy shoves him.

"You're a jerk," Sam replies with a roll of his eyes.

"Bitch," Dean responds, the epithet rolling off his tongue automatically as he pushes himself back upright.

They stare at each other a moment, the understanding of how long it has been since those simple - yet meaningful - words have last been directed solely at each other silently passing between them. Sam looks away first, thumb and forefinger plucking at imaginary lint on the right knee of his sweats.

"Is Cas okay? With me having seen …?"

Dean gives the kid a one shouldered shrug. "He's fine, Sammy. Ex-angel remember. Sex, like nudity, is a natural part of humanity, he doesn't feel embarrassment by it. His words," Dean cocks a half-grin, before he becomes serious once again. "His concern is in making sure you aren't traumatised. Are you traumatised, Sammy?" Sam shrugs his slim shoulders. His little brother has lost far too much weight over the past three years, during and since the Hell trials.

Sam briefly looks at him sideways and Dean narrows his eyes fractionally at the sudden gleam he witnesses in those familiar hazel eyes. "Though it was quite a traumatising experience," Sammy's voice is soft – and wounded, with just that subtle hint of manipulation. "The kind of experience that requires… compensation."

Dean refrains from rolling his eyes, figuring he's about to be asked to reverse a certain bedtime that isn't being changed anytime soon. "And this compensation would be?"

"I think you should spring me from caffeine-free life," Sam states as if that is the most obvious compensation in the world. Dean arch's an eyebrow at the kid - partially in surprise of the request - and Sam soon starts squirming beneath it. "Or not. You sure, Dean? It'd be a very good big brotherly thing to do what with my traumatising …"

Dean raises a hand, stopping his baby brother mid-sentence. "Big brother took your caffeine away, Sam. You got a free pass because of the Obilaya, but no more. And I'm not changing my mind anytime soon so stop trying to push it and just accept that fact, kid." Dean ignores the bottom lip pushing out into the familiar pout. "But I will allow you to have a soda every now 'n' then as a treat only."

"Really, Dean? Really?" Sam's eyes widen comically as he starts bouncing on his pillow, clapping his hands in an overly exaggerated manner. "Yay! Yippee!"

Dean snorts and shakes his head at the prevalent sarcasm in his baby brother's tone. He reaches out, grasping the kid's upper arms in a gentle hold, stilling the bouncing. "I can see your butts no longer sore. Maybe I didn't do such a great job."

"Uh-uh, no," Sam stares back at him wide-eyed and worried, hands straying under him. "You did, Dean. My bottom's still plenty sore."

"I'm joking, Sammy," Dean lets the kid out of his rising misery. "But can I get a serious response from you now? Cas is really worried about this."

Sam blows out a breath of relief. "Dean, I'm fine. It wasn't like it was the first time I've ever seen you having sex."

Dean has the decency to at least feel slightly abashed amongst a hint of anger directed at himself. He had been careless when he was younger (and older apparently); his Sammy should never have seen any of it. "Yeah, I know."

"Though I actually didn't really see anything aside from your naked butt and legs which I've seen far too many times before anyway." Dean snorts; that's certainly true. He and Sam have spent too many days and nights in confined quarters not to have grown accustomed to seeing each other naked on occasion. Plus Dean changed Sammy's diapers and bathed him – had showered him and bared his butt not too long ago; his kid didn't have anything he hadn't seen numerous times before. Sam shoots him a half-smirk and continues, "You can assure Cas that if I was going to be traumatised by the sight of your naked butt it would've happened a long time ago."

Dean tips his head back and laughs, a freeing sound that hasn't released from him in a long while. He shakes his head, his laughter tapering off as he catches the small look of wonder on his kid's face, as if Sammy's never seen him laughing like that before. Well, certainly not in a while that's for sure. Dean clears his throat and rises to his feet.

"Lay back, Sammy," Dean instructs. "I need to check how your feet are doing."

"They're fine, Dean," Sam grumbles in complaint. "Check 'em later."

"Sam."

Sam flops back on the mattress as if what Dean is asking of him is some great hardship. Dean rolls his eyes at the drama queen. Sam draws his legs up so his bandaged feet are resting on the bed instead of hanging over the edge and slips his thumb in his mouth. Grasping the left foot first Dean lifts it up and makes short work of unwrapping the bandages, pleased to see no red smears on the fabric. He repeats the process with the right foot. The larger gash hasn't started scabbing over yet like the smaller ones have, but the wound is dry and there is no sign of infection in any of them. Which is a miracle where Sam's concerned.

"Lookin' good, kiddo. I'll bind them back up for now, but they're coming off and staying off later." Dean wouldn't normally rebind wounds in the same bandages – at least when they had fresh ones available to them – but the wounds are dry and at this point the bandages are just for cushioning so Sammy can walk comfortably today.

Sam nods before smothering a yawn around his thumb.

Two minutes later, Dean is taping off the end of the bandage on Sam's left foot when he hears the sound of his baby brother's loud, grumbling stomach. Sam blushes again, thumb slipping from his mouth with an audible pop, as his hands shoot down to splay across his stomach. Dean shakes his head lightly at the action. As if that's really going to cover up the noise, Sammy, he thinks amused.

"My tummy-tiger's growly." The kid's blush deepens the instant the words slip past his lips.

Dean grins lightly, patting the side of Sammy's leg. He hasn't heard that phrasing in a while and clearly from the pink-hued cheeks Sammy hadn't meant to say it. "Best we get tummy-tiger fed pronto then," Dean responds in the same way he always had when Sammy was younger, and holds out a hand to the kid. Sam grasps it after shooting him a mild-glare for the light teasing. "C'mon," Dean pulls Sam up from his lying position and onto his feet, "Cas is heating some soup for you."

"Wait, Cas can cook?"

"Nope. Charlie."

"Ah, that makes much more sense."

Dean snorts.

#SPN#

Yum, Charlie can definitely cook, Sam thinks as he savours the taste of the chicken and leek soup, squishing the last piece of his tiger-loaf soaked in the broth against his tongue and palate, just letting the flavours seep out of the bread. The earlier taste of soap on Sam's tongue and teeth had thankfully been eradicated after the first few mouthfuls of the delicious tasting food.

This is only the second time he's tasted any of Charlie's cooking. The first time Sam had been stuffed too full of cold to be able to properly enjoy it. Several trickles of soup finds its way out of the corners of his mouth and down his chin, slipping on down to his t-shirt, but's he too engrossed in the taste to notice.

Something else he's oblivious to is Dean and Cas silently watching him with faint smiles of approval from their places across from him at the kitchen table (Sam isn't sitting at the breakfast bar again until it's been scrubbed down nine times over, preferably with bleach). Neither man is eating, but they both have a hand wrapped around their cups, Dean's filled with coffee and Cas' with tea.

Sam swallows his mouthful, a small burp releasing from him a moment later. "'Scuse me," he mumbles, before asking for more bread.

"You don't want to be overloading your stomach with bread, kiddo," Dean points out. "Not after throwing up and having only had half a cracker to eat since then. Eat your soup."

Sam pouts, not even the memory of that embarrassing moment can dampen his want for more bread right now. "One more piece, Dean. Please?"

Dean shakes his head. "No, Sammy."

"There's probably enough soup for half a bowlful after you've finished that one, Sam. If you want it," Cas offers.

"There you go, Sammy," Dean says. "You can have more soup, but no more bread."

Sam narrows his eyes mutinously. He wants bread, not more soup. He's already on his second bowl. Why is he even asking Dean for permission for more food anyway? It's their food; he always helps himself. That thought sees Sam pushing himself to his feet and moving to cross to the island where the loaf of bread is sitting. However, he feels his wrist grasped before he can even take a second step, and he's tugged towards Dean. He squirms, expecting to feel Dean's hand across his sore bottom for not listening and is surprised to find himself sitting on Dean's lap a second later, his legs resting in the space separating Dean and Cas' seats the other side of where Sam had been standing. Crap, how'd Dean manage that without me even noticing? Must have spaced out, Sam concludes and looks to Cas who is calmly watching him, the older man taking a mouthful of the Chinese Breakfast Black Tea he's come to enjoy the taste of. The stuff just looks like tree bark mixed with water to Sam, and doesn't taste much better either. Sam then turns to Dean and blinks at his brother in confusion.

"Dean, what …?" Sam starts, only for his brother to cut him off.

"What did I just tell you about the bread, Sam?" Dean questions calmly but firmly. Sam drops his gaze to Dean's chest, fingers unconsciously playing with a button on Dean's deep-blue shirt. A soft tap of a finger to his chin has him raising his eyes to meet Dean's. "Sam, what did I say?"

"No more bread," Sam replies grumpily.

"That's right. Except you've clearly forgotten that when I say 'no' to you about something, that's exactly what I mean."

Sam shakes his head. "I haven't forgotten," he replies strongly, because he does listen when Dean tells him no – most of the time. Dean's 'no' is usually accompanied with a good explanation as to why Sam cannot or is not allowed to do something. And he respects that – again, most of the time. Save for those times when Dean is just being a complete ass, then Sam just ignores him. "I just don't think it's relevant for you to be saying no right now. Not when it's just one slice of bread, Dean. I don't see what the big deal is about that."

"The big deal is you've been sick recently and consequently haven't eaten anything except for half a cracker in over thirty-nine hours …"

"Wait, what?" Thirty-nine hours. How can that be? Sam looks to Cas for some confirmation on his brothers words. Their former-angel nods his agreement. "But… it was about half-ten when I had my shower after… you know," now he can feel his cheeks heat lightly with the remembered embarrassment of collapsing and throwing up. If only he had the ability to just stop freaking blushing. "I can't have been out that long before the whole Obilaya thing."

"Dean put you to bed at half-ten Sunday morning, Sam. You slept for around twenty-five hours."

"It's Tuesday now, Sammy."

Tuesday? Dean had sprung Sam from his grounding at breakfast Sunday morning before he'd headed out to the green to watch Dean and Cas sparing. And which had subsequently led him to have that irrational fear and collapse. Had that really exhausted him to the point he'd slept an entire day away before the Obilaya got its claws into him?

"You're not kidding are you?" He asks slowly. Dean and Cas both shake their heads. Sam slumps down against Dean's shoulder. Crap, it's Tuesday. He fucking hates Tuesday's.

"C'mon, bud." Sam can feel Dean's hand running over his hair. "Finish up your soup," Dean says, "or do you want me to feed you?" There is no teasing lilt to the words which immediately tells Sam his brother is being serious. Dean wants him to eat more of the soup, without the bread mind, and Dean will feed him like a two-year-old if Sam doesn't do it himself.

"I do it," Sam says, cringing at how much that came out sounding like he was actually a two-year-old demanding to feed himself.

"All right, buddy," Dean says, the table digging into Sam's ribs as Dean leans forwards with him still on his lap and draws Sam's quarter-filled bowl across the table.

Dean picks up the spoon – thankfully empty - from within the bowl and holds the handle out to Sam at the same time he feels Dean's free arm close around his waist. A clear indication that he can feed himself but he isn't getting off Dean's lap until he is done. Sam refrains from rolling his eyes. He definitely isn't going to mention how comforted he feels being on his big brother's lap again, secure within Dean's strong arms. Nope. Never ever mentioning that. Sam takes the spoon and starts on his soup again, though now only warm it still tastes great.

"Did you tell the Grey's the hunt is done with?" Sam questions between mouthfuls.

"Mmm-hmm," Dean hums against his coffee cup, lowering it down from his lips and swallowing. "Called them earlier. They both sounded pretty relieved to hear you were alright." Sam nods. He likes the old couple. "Invited us to Sunday lunch next week as a thank you, but I told 'em we won't be in the area."

Sam frowns. "We won't?"

Dean's phone rings before Sam can get an answer. Sam feels Dean's arm around his waist squeeze a little tighter as Dean shifts to dig out the phone from his front right jeans pocket. He tries to glimpse the caller ID but Dean is too quick and is already setting the phone to his ear.

"Cray, thanks for getting back to me," Dean says. "You find something?"

Cray? Sam's frown deepens. Why's Dean in contact with Cray Additch? The much older hunter isn't in great health; the man handles any small hunts that crop up in his immediate area of Lakewood, Washington State, but for anything larger he calls in outside help. From Dean's first words alone it sounds as if Dean had been the one to contact the older hunter. Something Dean isn't primarily known to do. The only times Sam has known Dean to reach out to other hunters – outside of Bobby, Rufus and Garth - is when Sam is in trouble. He remembers Dean saying something to the Grey couple about being in contact with their son Al recently. That has to have something to do with this then. Huh. Maybe Dean has finally gotten it into his head that he can ask for help for himself for once. Or maybe Cas' influence is doing that.

Sam blinks as he feels a nudge against the handle of the spoon in his hold, his gaze meeting stern blue eyes. Cas taps the rim of Sam's soup bowl with a finger, indicating for him to continue and quit listening to Dean's conversation. Sam rolls his eyes; not listening in is a little hard when he's sitting on the man's lap. Cas sighs and holds out a hand, palm up. Sam frowns in return, before realising what the man is asking. He quickly draws his spoon closer to his body and shakes his head. No way is Cas feeding him.

"Then eat, please," Cas tells him quietly.

Sam glances at his brother who is too invested in his phone call to have noticed the exchange – or at least doesn't look to have noticed but Sam knows Dean's too observant to have missed it. Sam nods to Cas and sticks his spoon noisily into his bowl and scoops up some more soup, placing the spoon to his lips and slurping up the liquid. Cas shoots him a warning look; Sam gives him his most innocent look back and hides a grin as Cas shakes his head with a sigh. Sam drops his spoon back in his bowl with a loud clang of metal meeting ceramic – Dean shoots him a glare proving Sam's earlier point – and pushes the bowl away. He's full now.

Trying not to show he's straining to hear the softly-spoken voice coming through his brother's phone - lest he be met by Cas' stern eyes again - Sam picks up his cup (a tall tumbler complete with lid and straw) that Cas purchased for him on the former-angel's first solo grocery run after becoming human again. Sam figures it was meant to be some sort of consolation prize for Sam not being allowed coffee anymore or something. His own special cup for his juice and milk and whatever. Sam would gladly toss it in the garbage but he doesn't have the heart to hurt Cas' feelings – the man had been super happy about giving the gift; not to mention Dean wouldn't let Sam throw it out anyway. Now it makes an appearance whenever Dean or Cas fix him a drink (or if Sam gets himself one in their vicinity). He's just glad it's made of clear plastic without any stupid cartoon figure or something on the side. He isn't a kid. He doesn't need a sippy-cup. He sets his lips around the straw, drawing up a mouthful of mango juice and swallows as Dean shuts off his call.

"What was that about?" Sam queries causally after releasing the straw.

Dean gives him a stern look. "Could you have been any noisier, kid?" Absolutely, Sam thinks amusedly, but refrains from voicing and instead arch's an eyebrow, waiting for the answer to his question. "Cas and I didn't sit around with our thumbs up our asses whilst you were sleeping, Sammy."

"Oh, I got that thanks," Sam allows the sarcasm to flow, "Cas definitely didn't have his thumb up his ass."

Cas coughs and splutters on the mouthful of tea he's just taken. Sam sniggers lightly. Dean's hand releases from Sam's waist long enough to come down against the side of Sam's thigh in a sharp swat of reprimand, before returning to Sam's waist.

"Ow! Dean," Sam turns hurt eyes to his brother as the sting sweeps across his thigh.

"Before that, smartass. Now you apologise to Cas," Dean instructs firmly, even as he is handing over a spare paper napkin to Cas who nods his thanks and wipes his mouth free of tea splashes.

Sam blinks and swallows, realising he'd been an ass for saying what he did and laughing. Cas had been really worried for Sam after Sam had seen the two together earlier. Dean had told him as much. "'M sorry, Cas."

Cas nods. His voice sounds a little gruffer from his coughing when he says, "You're forgiven, Sam."

Something loosens in Sam's chest at hearing the words. He hadn't been aiming to upset Cas or piss him off. Sam watches as Dean places a finger on the rim of Sam's bowl and lightly tilts it to peer inside. There's only a small amount of soup left inside, not even enough to produce a full spoonful.

"We've been busy calling hunter contacts," Dean finally answers Sam's question, setting the bowl back upright and obviously satisfied Sam's eaten enough.

"For what?" Sam queries.

"Sam." Sam turns his gaze to Cas again. "Your brother and I need to know what happened out on the green Sunday morning."

Sam squirms on Dean's lap and shakes his head, fingers once again unconsciously finding his brother's shirt button. "It was nothing. I just got dizzy for a minute." Neither older man look impressed by that explanation.

"Sammy, you need to tell us."

Sam sighs. It will be of no use keeping the truth from either one of them. Dean definitely will not let it rest if he thinks the information is important to Sam's continuing health. And he's already been warned not to withhold information right now, especially pertaining to himself. Dean and Cas are holding each other under the same directive. Anything could be an aftereffect of the spell at this point. So… Sam blurts out everything; the all-encompassing fear he'd felt watching them spar and thinking they were going to kill each other and leave him alone; his breath freezing in his throat causing his collapse; and he reluctantly explains the flashback he had of Dean's death whilst he was out.

"Sammy," Dean's voice ghosts against his ear, his forehead having come to rest against the side of Sam's head in the process of his truthful explanation. "Fearing losing me and Cas isn't a stupid or irrational fear, baby boy," Dean tells him voice stronger, firmer, the arm around Sam's waist maybe squeezing a little too tightly, but Sam doesn't point it out. "I did die just over three weeks ago, kiddo. You're more than entitled to those feelings, Sammy."

"Sam, we all know not one of us can make any kind of promise that we'll still be here tomorrow," Cas points out quietly, hands coming to rest atop Sam's knees, "but we will fight with everything we have to keep it that way. You and Dean, you're all I have left now. I don't intend on losing either of you anytime soon, little one."

Sam blinks tears from his eyes. He hadn't realised until now just how much he'd needed that reassurance from both his big brother and Cas. To know that he isn't being stupid; that his fear of losing Dean and Cas is not irrational, but in fact fully rational. Both Dean and Cas are right. They have lost each other in the past. There is no guarantee they won't lose each other in the future. Hell, it's a foregone conclusion. But Sam really hopes they have a good few more years to be a family before something trounces all over them. Which means it's time they find a solution to Dean and Cas' burning from the inside problem. Sam performing the spell has left them both vulnerable – that's fully on Sam – it's time he fixes it; head out there, rather than trying to find some relevant information in books, and scrolls and resources he's searched and searched through too many times to count. Even if he has to go by himself …

"Don't think I don't know what you're thinking, Samuel," Dean's voice scolds next to his ear, making Sam jolt out of his thoughts and do his best to make it seem as if he hadn't nearly jumped off of his brother's lap in surprise. "And you can stop right now. You're not going off anywhere by yourself."

"Then what am I supposed to do, Dean?!" Sam throws back, his temper rising. "I did this to you and Cas. Because of the spell …"

"I'm going to stop you right there, Sam," Cas cuts in sharply, "I agreed upon our course of action if you well remember. I agreed we would perform the spell on Dean. Not one of us would have been able to foresee this outcome. As it is …" Cas looks at Dean, who Sam sees nod in return, "… your brother and I were brainstorming whilst you were sleeping… and we believe the powers are having an effect."

Sam bites his bottom lip, the familiar fear and worry seeping in as he looks from Cas to Dean. If the powers are having an effect on Dean and Cas then they're screwed. Dean and Cas have to see reason. They have to get out there …

"Just hear Cas out, Sam," Dean instructs, bringing Sam out of his thoughts once again, hearing a measure of control in Dean's tone as he reaches up and draws Sam's bottom lip out from under his teeth.

With that gone, Sam raises his hand to his mouth, slipping his thumb between his lips, drawing on the comfort of suckling against it as he frowns lightly, unable to figure out what emotion exactly Dean is trying to control – and hide from Sam. Because though he can read Dean pretty well, Dean has always been better at reading Sam than the other way around. The man has had a lot of practice over the years; and Dean has unfortunately had too much practice at hiding his own emotions. Sam apparently wears his on his sleeve.

"We believe," Cas continues, "our powers are not effecting Dean and I through the burnout you've been fearing. As we've all been fearing," Cas corrects himself. Ok-ay, but Cas just said the powers are having an effect on him and Dean and now he isn't? Sam's confused. Dean's arms around Sam's waist tighten again, but still not to the point of being painful. "They're potentially having a detrimental effect… on you."

#

Sam silently tracks his gaze from Cas' serious expression to Dean's pained green eyes. Back and forth before he settles on Dean. Fear is an emotion Dean has learnt to control well and from an early age; since before he'd become a teenager with the responsibility of having to reassure a little Sammy that the monsters aren't coming to get him after Sam had found out about what was out there. Maybe even before then. But the look in Dean's eyes right now expresses all of which he'd only moments ago been trying to hide. This theory is twisting Dean up inside – the possibility he and Cas have unconsciously brought pain to Sam these past two weeks.

He slips his thumb out and gives a shake of his head, his hair falling around his face. He brushes it back. "I don't understand. How could that even be possible? I haven't felt anything."

Dean's brow furrows. "Sam, the day we found out about retaining these powers and Cas being human, what did Cas and I do?"

"Err …" Sam frowns, throwing his mind back just over two weeks to that day, wondering where they were both going with this. "Oh. You went down to the shooting range to test them out."

"Uh-huh. And when I got back to the library two hours later you were in the midst of a headache the likes of which you haven't had in years. You've been having headaches on and off for the past two weeks - each and every one coinciding with power use from me or Cas."

Huh. Sam honestly hasn't thought anything of his headaches. They're headaches, nothing new there. He's suffered with them in the past; more so back when he was having visions – and the demon-blood fuelled powers. Connecting them as coinciding with power use from Dean and Cas is something he never would have even considered. But then… wait, that can't be right.

"If that's the case why haven't I had a headache when either of you use your strength then?" Sam counters. Not because he wants the theory to be wrong. He'll willingly take the pain if it means Dean and Cas aren't going to burn out. But if they make the mistake of focusing on Sam being the only one effected and then later realise he isn't, they could be too late to change anything. "You were using your strength to carry me not too long ago, Dean."

"It's simple, Sam," Cas responds. "The strength doesn't manifest power; it is a physical ability tied to the powers yes, but not reliant on them for its use. It is now tied into every layer of mine and Dean's muscles, as it is tied to an angel or demon's physical body. If we were to rid ourselves of these powers tomorrow for example, our strength would reduce considerably but we would still retain a portion, making us stronger than the strongest of humans rather than being almost on par with an angel or demon."

Okay, that makes sense. "But then what about yesterday morning?" Sam shakes his head and corrects himself, "I mean Sunday morning. Were either of you using powers other than strength in your fight?"

Guilt clouds Cas' blue eyes as he withdraws his hands from where they're resting on top of Sam's knees. Sam feels a sudden bereft feeling flood him, before it fizzles away. He shakes it off. Places it down to the loss of warmth against his knees from Cas' hands.

"Cas tried shoving me off balance with his powers as I swung to punch him only seconds before your collapse, Sammy."

"Oh. But I don't remember feeling a headache coming on before I collapsed. Unless …" Sam frowns, "unless you think it's progressed from headaches."

"That's our fear," Cas responds quietly.

God, Cas is practically vibrating with guilt. Sam can almost sense the ridiculous thought of unworthiness the man's feeling at touching Sam running through Cas' mind. The man's hands are clenched into tight fists atop Cas' knees, white knuckles clear to see, as he physically holds himself back from reaching out to hold Sam's knees again. Sam kicks him hard in the shin with the side of a bandaged foot, ignoring the slight jolt of pain zinging up his own leg.

"Ow," Cas says mildly, frowning at Sam whilst leaning down to rub the spot.

Dean snorts. "Just be grateful he didn't have his boots on. Now put your hands back on his knees, you moron."

Cas blinks, before slowly unrolling his fingers from their clenched position, mouth opening into the shape of an O as he comes to some kind of realisation; the same one Dean has obviously reached. Cas looks down at his hands briefly before glancing up at Sam through his eyelashes. Sam nods his permission and almost melts into his brother's chest at the extra warmth and comfort he feels from Cas' simple touch. Yet he has no idea why. He misses the troubled looks shared between Dean and Cas because he is too busy yawning and scrubbing at his eyes, his mind whirling with what he's been told.

And the more he thinks on it the sounder the theory, except for one tiny glitch. He looks at his brother. Because Sam might have been barely with it Sunday when Dean had showered him, but right now there is one thing sticking out clearly in his memory. "You do realise you used telekinesis to take your socks off Sunday, right?" Dean's forehead creases in confusion, before realisation strikes.

"When was this?" Cas questions.

"Sam's shower. I couldn't reach my feet with Sasquatch on my lap so …"

"You took them off using your powers," Cas concludes. Dean nods.

"I remember being really tired, but I don't remember having a headache or collapsing directly after Dean taking his socks off," Sam informs them. "And from what you've explained of your theory, the latter should've happened, right?"

"He did almost crack his head open on the tiles of the bathroom floor when he fell asleep but that wasn't until about seven or eight minutes later," Dean adds.

"And we theorised it would be a direct headache or collapse," Cas says contemplatively, the lines crossing his forehead now fully prominent. Cas suddenly holds out a hand to Sam's tumbler sitting innocuously on the table and the cup sails into the former-angel's hand, wobbling slightly as it impacts Cas' palm. Cas wraps his fingers around it.

"Cas!" Dean barks, "That could've …"

"It's okay, Dean," Sam interjects. Green and blue eyes stare at him. "Nothing happened, I'm fine," he assures his brother. "Still awake. No headache."

Dean and Cas look at one another in confusion, before Cas turns to survey Sam, scrutinising gaze running up and down. Sam watches Cas withdraw his remaining hand from his knee a moment later and reach out to Sam's left hand. Cas grasps it and moves it away from where its resting against Dean's hand around his waist, and sets Sam's arm - from the elbow down - to rest on the table. Cas pushes the tumbler back to where it was on the table before he'd summoned it.

"Cas, what are you doing?" The demand is clear in Dean's tone.

But Sam now understands. All too clearly. He surveys his position on his brother's lap; the placing of his hand now on the table whilst the other rests atop his thigh. He swallows, figuring this might hurt or make him throw up again. He's not sure which will be worse.

"Sam …" Cas starts apologetically.

"It's okay, Cas," Sam assures, bracing himself. "We have to know for sure."

"Know what?" Dean demands in a low growl, impatience with Cas and Sam's lack of response shining through.

"If the powers are definitely impacting me," Sam tells his brother. "And if it can be controlled to some degree." Sam nods to Cas as he sees Dean's frown deepen. His brother hasn't yet realised what Sam and Cas are getting at but it won't take much longer. And it's a good idea to get this done before Dean does figure it out.

Cas once again holds his hand open and the tumbler sails across the table into it. A brief searing burst of pain shoots through Sam's skull. His eyes roll up into his head and he crashes into unconsciousness.

#

"What the fucking hell, Cas?!" Dean barks letting loose the hold he has around Sam's waist to catch the kid as Sam starts toppling backwards off his lap. His hand splays across the back of his kid's skull, whilst his other hand has grabbed hold of Sam's t-shirt. He shoots his partner a glare as he resituates his baby brother on his lap to make them both more comfortable.

"Dean, I'm sorry, but as Sam said we have to know …"

"Know what, Cas?" Dean interrupts harshly. "We already knew these fucking powers are effecting Sam and not us! What we don't have any clue about is what these headaches and collapses might be doing to Sam's brain and what? You just figured you'd go ahead and test some damn theory on my baby brother without my say so?"

Cas' eyes harden. "If I could have taken the pain Sam suffered onto myself I would have in a heartbeat, Dean. You're not the only one who cares for him! But without testing if our theory is accurate we'd be stuck. And this …" Cas gestures at Sam's unconscious form, "… has at least proven that skin contact with you can counteract the effects of our powers to a certain degree."

"Skin… skin contact?" Dean repeats incredulously. "You're saying Sammy didn't feel it the first time you moved his cup because his hand was in contact with mine?"

"Yes. And when you used power to remove your socks Sunday Sam had his shirt off while you were holding him. Though it's doubtful it will be sufficient enough in the long run to stop Sam feeling the effects if we were to expend a great deal more power than a small burst of telekinesis." Cas' voice is grave as are his eyes as they stare into Dean's. "We have to be cautious, Dean. There is no telling how long we can hold this off for. Sam may well be burning out right now just because we have these powers inside us both, and not because we've actually used any. And using them would be expediting his demise."

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

His baby brother has a death sentence hanging over his head.

Again.

#

Sam blinks open his eyes, expecting to feel a lingering sensation of that strong pain but there is none. A grey-sleeved arm is invading his vision and there is a slight pressure of a hand against his forehead. It's removed after a moment and Cas is there, seated in the same place, his elbows now resting on his knees.

"You're okay, Sammy."

Dean's voice above him clues Sam into the fact he's still seated on Dean's lap. Except Sam's curled himself more into his brother. His chest is now mostly resting against Dean's, his arms hanging down either side of his brother's body, and he can feel the weight of Dean's joined hands sitting on his back, just above his bottom. His face is half-buried against Dean's collarbone. Sam's cheeks feel tight and he tastes salt. Great, he's been crying again. Embarrassment sweeps through him for the umpteenth time and he pushes himself upright, stifling a yawn amidst his thumb.

Sam removes his thumb to scrub at his eyes with his fists. "How long was I out this time?"

Dean glances down at his watch and says, "Twenty-three minutes."

It really shouldn't surprise Sam that Dean would keep track of every minute he was out; had probably set the timer on his phone as well. It amuses him as much as it gladdens his soul to know Dean is still here; caring about him in that silent way the man doesn't give freely to just anybody. If things had gone differently three weeks ago, Sam shudders lightly… he can't even think on any other outcome than what had passed. Because Sam more than likely would be dead; and maybe Cas to. And his demonic brother would have gone on to murder the world.

"So, I'm gonna burn out, huh?"

"No, you're not," Dean tells him sharply. "Cas and I aren't just gonna sit back and let you burn out, Sammy. We're gonna find an answer to this. But in the meantime neither of us will be using any powers. "

Sam shakes his head. "I didn't save you to watch you die again, Dean. Even in trying to save me. That's what always happens. We save each other only for the one doing the saving to end up cursed or something. I don't want to die, Dean, okay. I realise that now, but maybe this is just the way it has to be. And you won't be alone …"

"Stop talking. Now." The voice is pain-filled and brings Sam to a crashing halt, because it comes from Cas. "You do not mention dying again, Samuel. Do you understand? Not one word about it, or I'll spank you."

Sam blinks, swallowing sharply and looks to Dean for help. Because surely Cas doesn't have his big brother's permission to spank Sam, does he? Dean would have told him. But his brother's face is stoic, his eyes just as pained as Cas' voice. Sam can feel how rigid Dean is holding himself, and he realises his brother is unable to bring himself to talk right now out of fear of losing his temper with Sam. That was why Cas has stepped in. Sam bit his bottom lip and turns back to look at Cas through his eyelashes.

"Yes sir, I understand," Sam responds quietly.

Cas nods, reaching out towards Sam's knees and Sam notices the man's hands are shaking before they descended upon his knees again and he feels that warmth filter in, a warmth that is becoming familiar. He feels some of the rigidity leave his brother, Dean's forehead tipping forward to rest against the side of Sam's head again.

"Good boy," the whisper brushes against his ear. Sam feels his throat burn as he holds himself back from allowing anymore tears to fall at the weight he hears behind that whisper; Dean is scared. Dean only allows himself a brief moment to show it, for his baby brother to see it, and then he straightens up, back in control, back in charge once again. He gives Sam a small smile, thumb sliding across Sam's cheek briefly. "Cas, grab us a damp cloth would you?"

"Of course, Dean," Cas responds. That warmth once again leaves Sam as Cas stands and crosses the kitchen to the sink, but Sam still has all the warmth in the world right next to him and under him in the shape of his brother. Sam shakes his head in confusion at his own thoughts and moves to a topic that isn't so chick-flick.

"Is this what you contacted Cray about?" He questions his brother, remembering Dean and Cas' explanation had spiralled from that phone call.

Dean nods. "Partly. The other part, well, genius over there wants to hunt down Rowena."

"Rowena? The same Rowena Dean wants to gank just for scorching my toe last year?" Sam questions with a disbelieving look towards Cas now that they are back onto safe ground. "The same Rowena who's being hunted by Crowley's henchmen?"

"The one in the same," Cas responds over the sound of running water.

Dean shoots Sam a glare. "She didn't scorch your toe, Sammy, she almost burnt your god damned freaking leg off. You've still got some of the scars. There's a huge difference."

"Okay, Dean, I get your pissed she hurt me," Sam placates, earning himself another glare and one he ignores. "But do we really want to get into a confrontation with Crowley's goons over a witch?" he asks as Cas returns with the cloth. Cas hands it off to Dean who spreads the dark purple cloth over his palm and Sam doesn't really pay much attention to it until that cloth is applied to his face, swiping over his skin. Gah! Sam twists away – or tries to, Dean has a pretty good grip on him still.

"Deeeeeaaannnn!" he whines long and loud from behind the cloth, trying to push his brother's hand away with his own. He gets it smacked away for his trouble, and he has to shake the sting out.

"Stop it, Sam, it's just a freaking cloth. It's not killing you," Dean rebukes as he continues to wipe Sam's skin before grasping Sam's hands one at a time and wiping his palms and fingers clean. "There," Dean sets the cloth down on the table, "and don't put that thumb back in your mouth."

Sam pouts, now wanting to do just that. God, how many times is he going to be treated like a child today? He had only collapsed, puked, got lost, torn up his feet and had his life-essence sucked out twice. In the grand scheme of things they've all had to endure over the years, that's basically nothing. And Sam's more than proved he's capable of looking after himself. But Dean's treating him with kid gloves again. Oh god, what if there isn't anything wrong with Sam. What if it's all Dean? What if Sam's emotions going haywire these past two weeks is because he has been reacting to the shift in Dean's behaviour?

Because his brother is showing a side of himself that Sam had thought long gone (and which he misses a lot more than he'll admit, if he's honest with himself), a side of Dean that Sam hasn't seen since before Stanford. A Dean who was father, mother, brother, protector and friend rolled into one. A fucking hell of a lot of roles on someone's shoulders who at the time was still only twenty/twenty-one and had juggled those roles practically his entire life.

When Dean had come to Stanford to get Sam to find John, only the brother was there, showing the protectiveness of an older brother but nothing more. They'd had to re-forge their relationship, their brotherhood, their friendship. The love Dean had showered him with during his childhood was gone; Dean no longer able to easily express it except in those times of distress and trauma – when Sam was ill or hurt, as if Dean knew he could show it then because sickness and injuries come with a free pass. The chick-flick moments never spoken of again. Sam blames himself for that; his going to Stanford cost Dean a lot more than he'd first realised. And he'd never realised until too late that his having removed himself to college had taken away Dean's primary purpose for living at the time. When it had come, that realisation had hit him hard.

His brother may not have wanted anything to do with him at the beginning of Sam's freshman year; ignoring any phone calls, texts and voicemail messages Sam had ever sent during that time, but Sam had kept tabs on his big brother through Uncle Bobby. One of those times that Sam had called the grizzled hunter during Sam's first four months away, Dean had been there, completely out of it with the flu and suffering hallucinations due to his severe fever. Uncle Bobby had been frazzled, his normal gruff manner worn down into one hell of a shitty mood as he tried to juggle Dean's wish of staying the hell out of the hospital and knowing it was a growing possibility. And doing all he could to get the 'stupid idjit' to stay in bed – because go figure John Winchester was nowhere in sight - and sporting a few bruises for his troubles. Especially for having taken away the Impala's keys from Dean. You didn't do that unless you wanted to get punched.

Uncle Bobby had put the phone to Dean's ear, hoping the sound of Sam's voice could calm his fevered big brother. It had to a degree. Dean doesn't remember anything about it (or had blocked it from memory); about begging Sam to come home over that phone; crying for his little brother not to leave him. Sam never brought it up. Uncle Bobby never brought it up (as far as Sam's aware). But something had broken inside of Sam then; a hollowness flowing through him that not even meeting Jess - and what he'd thought was the start of a life with her - had filled. That hollowness didn't start to refill until he was once again on the road with his big brother. Sam had stayed on that phone for hours, though he'd wanted to hop a bus and be with his heart-broken big brother – but he'd been beyond dirt-poor at the time (and Dean had yet to teach him how to hotwire a car) - curled up in his own blankets in his draughty dorm room; silent tears trailing down his cheeks as he listened to his brother's fevered speech. His own heart breaking even more as he listened to his strong big brother pouring out all the hurt he'd obviously kept bottled inside since Sam's departure, perhaps even before then. But he owed Dean that; he owed Dean everything.

Uncle Bobby had said enough is enough after that. He'd instigated a meeting between Sam and Dean during Christmas. Nothing spectacular. Dean was going to be on his own; John was off on a hunt (Christmas never having any meaning to him after the night Mom died). Sam was going to be on his own. It had been tense, though it had calmed a little after Dean had got done with the whole 'what the hell's he doing here' crap, and Uncle Bobby plainly stating Sam had been invited just as Dean had, and it was Uncle Bobby's house. And they could both clear their asses out if they didn't like it. End of.

They'd both stayed.

Sam can still remember getting off the greyhound back at Stanford when Christmas and New Year's was over. As he'd started heading off in the direction of his campus, he'd heard that familiar purr of the Impala's engine. A sound he'd know anywhere, even after she'd taken a beating and needed Dean's loving touch to rebuild her from ground up. Dean had followed behind the bus. Sam had smiled, but hadn't turned around knowing it was the last thing Dean would want him to acknowledge. Once he'd reached his dorm a text had come through, a brief and simple conversation that would be repeated many times over for the next three years; almost down to the exact same words.

'All good?'

'Safe & sound. You good? Miss you, bro.'

'Good. Fine. Back attcha.'

The last text would always take a good minute to come through, Dean no doubt contemplating each time whether the last part of his response was too chick-flick. Sam was pretty sure you couldn't get any less chick-flicky than 'back attcha'. Sam smiles softly, his arms slipping around his brother's neck without really knowing he's moving and holds on tight.

"Hey, what's the matter, bud?" Dean's voice once again echoes against his ear, arms that were around Sam's waist rising so they're hugging him back properly, a hand resting against his hair.

Sam still hero-worships his big brother – even through everything that has happened between them, Sam hasn't grown out of that. He has always admired and respected his big brother's strength even when Dean doubts his own strength and self-worth. Dean has a lot of flaws, he's made hefty mistakes – just as Sam and Cas undeniably have – and is bound to make mistakes in the future, but yeah, this man holding him on his lap is still Sam's hero.

A shake of his head is the only response Sam's able to give to Dean's question and he buries his face in the crook of his brother's neck, breathing in the scent he has always associated with Dean; home. He has never told Dean that his true home is wherever Dean is. The Impala and the bunker are just a means of keeping that home close.

Ah hell, maybe there is something wrong with both of them. Maybe they've finally cracked under years of built up pressure.

"Is he alright?" Sam hears Cas ask Dean quietly.

"Yeah, he's okay," Dean responds, fingers lightly scratching at the back of Sam's scalp. "Still tired, I guess."

"So what did Cray have to say?"

Sam shifts slightly to better free up an ear whilst still staying where he is against his brother. He slips his thumb back in his mouth and drops his eyes to half-mast to make it look like he is falling asleep. Perhaps that way Dean and Cas will discuss more about the plans for hunting Rowena – they both seemed a little reluctant to share with him earlier. Something he thinks he should be a little pissed about, but he just can't bring himself to be so right now.

"He's had a sighting up in Olympia of a woman matching Rowena's description," Dean says. "Right down to the Scottish accent and long red hair. And he heard about another sighting from a hunter he contacted on our behalf. This one further afield in Vancouver."

"They're reasonably close together sightings. We should check that area first, Dean."

Sam feels Dean nod. "Yeah. I'll put Sammy down for a quick nap while I get him packed." Crap, colossal backfire, Sam thinks as he feels himself lifted slightly, an arm slipping beneath his butt as Dean stands up. Sam has already automatically wrapped his legs around his brother's waist before he figures he should've let go of the ruse and dropped his legs to the ground and informed his brother he is fully capable of walking – and not taking a nap. But… he's comfortable. "Be ready to ahead out in an hour, Cas."

Cas must have nodded his ascent, because Dean starts walking, carrying Sam out of the kitchen. They reach Sam's bedroom in no time. Dean doesn't turn on the overhead light and instead opts for turning on the fifties-style lamp on Sam's closest nightstand.

Sam is shifted effortlessly so he's basically lying face-down over Dean's strong arms and deposited carefully onto his tummy on his hard mattress. He shifts his head on his pillow so he can still breathe properly through his nose and suck his thumb at the same time. He uses his elbow to draw his spare pillow under the arm folded up and attached to his mouth and cuddles it to his side.

"No nap, De," Sam mumbles around his thumb, already feeling his will to stay awake crumbling as Dean's fingers scratch gently at his scalp again; a sure-fire way to relax Sam and send him to sleep. That and rubbing his back, which is exactly what Dean's other hand is doing. It isn't fair that Dean knows all these tricks, especially when Sam doesn't want to sleep right now.

"Go to sleep, buddy. I'll wake you in twenty minutes," Dean's voice washes over Sam as he drifts off into sleep.

#

Dean scrubs a hand down his face as he silently watches his kid sleep. He almost wishes the Mark of Cain is still adorning his arm. That he's a demon once again; when he hadn't given a flying-fuck about anything or anyone. Not Sammy. Not Cas. Where he could hide from the gnawing pain eating at his chest and gut. Where Sammy's life isn't once again on the line because Dean probably would have already killed him and carried on fucking about as an emotionless demon.

But Dean may be many things, but he isn't a coward. And it's the pain that will see them through this. Dean's pain. Cas' pain. And they won't let Sammy feel any more pain because of them, because of these cursed powers. They'll fix-it; it's what they do. But their fix-it' always come with these consequences. This time they need to find a way of doing this that will have no repercussions on Sammy. And preferably not on Cas and Dean either. But if he needs to once again lay his life down for his baby brother, for his kid, Dean will do it in a heartbeat.

Dean rubs Sam's back lightly as the boy whimpers in his sleep and starts to shift restlessly as if sensing Dean's thoughts. Sammy quickly settles down after a few passes of Dean's hand over his back and starts suckling on his thumb again. Dean sighs, he really should get Sammy a pacifier. The thumb-sucking is fast becoming a regular habit. There hasn't been a night these past two weeks where the kid hasn't slept with it in his mouth. And during the day the kid no longer cares, nor blushes scarlet with embarrassment, when Cas witnesses him sucking his thumb. Though the latter is the biggest tell-tale sign Dean could have been given that Sammy wholly accepts their former-angel into their little family – even before knowing Dean and Cas are together.

Dean would like to know why exactly Sam has latched back onto this childish comfort though. Sure it's a comfort his kid has never really given up, having hid it well over the years, but why now has his thirty-two year old Sasquatch of a brother started heavily sucking his thumb again? Not even their dad had known Sam still sucked his thumb past four years old; the age he'd been when John had banned both the kid's thumb and pacifier. Of course, Sam being the devious little shit that he is had found a way to have both when John wasn't around – giving the biggest 'fuck you' to the man that he could manage at such a young age. Dean probably hadn't made things any better by going along with Sammy's obsession to keep his pacifier.

Dean had often wondered if that was where Sammy's rebellion with John had originated. The kid had always been stubborn, but he had always obeyed Dean's orders. But then, Dean knows to explain the why to his inquisitive and stubborn baby brother. Sammy isn't the type to follow if he doesn't understand why exactly he's having to do something. Especially if he's fobbed off with some ridiculous reason. Dean had certainly had to relearn that lesson over the past ten years of their hunting together.

And it's one of numerous reasons where John had gone wrong with the youngest Winchester. John had always expected to have another Dean. Another soldier who had known how imperative it was to follow his father's orders on a hunt, especially after the Shtriga incident. But contrary to Sam's thoughts, outside of hunts Dean hadn't always been the obedient son. Especially when it came to Sam's well-being. And his father had eventually learnt how not to overstep his bounds when it came to Dean's raising Sammy - at least until everything went to shit when Sammy was seventeen. His father had passed Sam to him that night of the fire, and by the time John had realised he had never truly taken his baby boy back from Dean, it was much too late to rectify the situation.

And Dean wouldn't have given his baby boy back.

Dean pats his fingers gently against Sam's back and rises from the edge of the bed, drawing the sheets up over his sleeping kid. His movements are silent as he grabs up Sam's duffle from the floor and sets it on Sam's desk. He checks it first, dumping out anything Sam won't need with him, before he grabs clothing from the closet, and underwear, socks and fresh pj's (sweats and t-shirt) from the identical five-drawer bureau to Dean's own. Just enough for four days as always. Rolling it all, Dean dumps it into the bag. He switches off the lamp and leaves Sam's bedroom, being sure to leave the door ajar. He'll leave the kid to sleep as long as possible despite what he told Sammy.

He flicks on an extra wall-light in the hallway as he passes it to better illuminate the hall so that it filters better into Sam's room without being too heavy. The minute Dean had seen the state of the kid's sheets when he'd walked into Sam's bedroom after the kitchen sex thing, Dean had known Sammy had woken from a nightmare again, and probably the same one. And Dean once again hadn't been there to coach Sammy back into the awakening world without a full-blown panic because he was too busy having sex. He shakes his head. He and Cas were idiots for having gotten carried away in the kitchen for the second time in three days. Cas, though, is currently like a horny teenager when he gets going. And Cas is also a hell of a lot for Dean to resist.

Swinging by the bathroom, he grabs out Sam's toiletries, his own and Cas'. He dumps them all in their separate shower bags, before heading for his own bedroom. "You packed?" he questions seeing Cas rummaging in the far side nightstand drawer - the one he'd designated as Cas'. At some point they'll move Cas fully into Dean's room now that Sam knows, but that is honestly the last thing on Dean's priority list right now.

"Yes. But I can't find my angel-blade," Cas says frowning as he straightens from rummaging in drawers.

"Seriously? You lost your angel-blade?" Dean growls dropping Cas' shower-bag on the wooden chair beside his door with a thud of bottles. "Yours," he states crossing to dump his on his mattress, along with Sam's duffle, which he shoves Sam's shower-bag inside and zips it up. "Where the hell did you last see it?"

"I thought I put it in the top drawer here," Cas replies apologetically, "but I've checked all of yours and mine."

"Cas, it's a fucking weapon, man! A powerful one. You don't leave a fucking weapon like that just lying around, especially in this house! You secure weapons as I told you." Dean gestures his hand at his own weapons adorning his wall. "Even if that's just on the fucking wall. At least then you know exactly where to fucking find 'em."

"I know, Dean! Okay. I know."

Dean sighs, knowing he shouldn't have blown up at Cas like that. But the thought of a weapon as powerful as an angel blade being left around for Sammy to pick up and play with – Dean slams the brakes on his train of thought. What the fuck? Where the hell did that come from? Sammy has been using weapons and has been proficient in the handling of those weapons for years now. Hell, the kid doesn't leave the bunker without several knives and guns concealed on his person. They are at times the only defence either of them has, along with their fists and feet, sometimes their entire bodies. Dean doesn't think there will ever be a day the rule of having at least one to two weapons on you outside the safety of the bunker and motels they stay at (once the place is secured) will not apply to Sammy.

So why is Dean suddenly so afraid Sammy could hurt himself because of one of them?

"Dean?"

Dean blinks. "What?"

"You've paled drastically," Cas states now standing almost chest to chest with him, concern filling the sharp blue-eyes, hands clutching Dean's upper arms. "Are you well? Is it the powers? Are they effecting you after all? Could we be wrong in our theory?"

Oh god, does he wish they're wrong. But it isn't the powers, it's… fuck, Dean runs a hand through his hair. He has no idea what the hell this is.

And suddenly Dean is furious. He just doesn't know who he's furious at.

At Sammy for performing the spell.

At Cas for agreeing.

At himself for taking on the Mark in the first place and bringing this all down on their heads.

Or for stupidly believing that these powers could be helpful to them in their cases.

Powers that are slowly destroying Sam from the inside out; Dean and Cas the catalysts of his destruction. Dean once again a fucking huge threat to his baby brother's life. The universe obviously not satisfied with what Dean had tried to do to his little boy under the Mark's influence.

If he was smart he'd remove himself and Cas as far away from Sammy as possible; leave his kid in the protection of the bunkers dozen or so wards and disappear until they can get this sorted out.

But when has his and Sammy's ditching each other ever proved the right course of action?

And leaving Sammy by himself… hell no, that's not an option. Sammy would leave the bunker eventually and there are just too many fugly's out there who would be more than willing to get their hands on Sam Winchester. Especially if it's known Dean isn't watching his back. And Sammy can find trouble in a locked room, who knows what the kid could stumble upon in the bunker by himself.

No. Leaving Sammy isn't an option. Now or ever.

Dean and Cas just have to ensure they don't use these powers again.

Sammy will be okay.

They're gonna fix it.

They don't have any other choice.